


Only Logical by scifichick774

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, Dubious Consent, F/M, Full Moon, Horcrux Hunting, Outdoor Sex, Porn With Plot, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, Werewolf Mates, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Frustrated at Harry and Ron's lack of enthusiasm in hunting for the Horcruxes, Hermione launches her own search... but pieces of Voldemort's soul aren't the only things she finds.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 149
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written by scifichick774, originally posted to live journal. [Link here.](https://kris-fic.livejournal.com/28751.html) As livejournal continues to lose functionality and scifichick774 has vanished from fandom, I wanted to repost the story here in order to prevent the work from being lost.

Being the logical one in a group that let their emotions make their decisions for them had distinct drawbacks. One, they often refused to listen to common sense. Two, when she was able to get them to listen, they rebuffed her ideas. And three, she was always there to provide backup for their furthering decent into idiocy, but their lack of sound reason left her without reciprocation, and in situations much like the one she was in now.  
  
_Alone, in an abandoned – and probably **condemned** – building, facing the enemy.  
  
Although, Hermione considered, it could be far worse. She could have run into a seasoned Death Eater instead of one who was still in training.  
  
If he was even that_, she thought as she took in Draco's appearance.  
  
True, he'd looked haggard and exhausted all last year, but now his once flawless face was scarred, and his expensive robes tattered. Voldemort had punished him severely for his failure, that much was obvious; what she didn't know was whether the blonde wizard was still under the monster's thumb.  
  
Draco let out a mirthless chuckle, but his wand remained steady in his hand. “Granger.”  
  
“Malfoy.”  
  
They stared at each other in silence for a long moment after that. There was nothing to say; not really.  
  
Except when there was.  
  
“You here for the Horcrux?”  
  
The question startled her, but only enough to make her narrow her eyes and tilt her head a little to the side in a speculative fashion. “What do you know about that?”  
  
He rolled his eyes and, to her utter amazement, lowered his wand. “Snape's the only reason I'm alive, Granger.”  
  
_**Oh.**  
  
Well. That made sense. Sort of. _  
  
She had suspected for a while now that Snape had only been doing Dumbledore's bidding when he killed him; that was certainly how she'd interpreted pensieved memory of the event anyway. Following that line of thought, logic dictated that Dumbledore had probably confided in Snape about the Horcruxes and her former professor would most likely take it upon himself to continue the unfinished work since he didn't have faith in Harry's ability to... _well, do anything, really._  
  
Snape had also apparently informed Draco of the quest, though she couldn't possibly fathom what his reasons were for doing so. Regardless, it appeared they were on the same side, however temporarily, and if he could feign semi-civility for the good of the common cause, then so could she.  
  
“How far have you gotten?” she asked, lowering her own wand and then walking toward him.  
  
He scowled at her, most likely because of her increasing proximity, but didn't back away or fall back into a defensive stance again. “I broke the first couple of curses, but there's a whole series of them on there,” he answered, motioning to the cabinet he stood in front of with a tip of his head.  
  
Hermione nodded in understanding. “That figures. It's a populated Muggle area, so it's not as if he could plant a bunch of Inferi here without anyone noticing. And apart from us, he probably didn't need to; his Keep Away charms are among the best I've encountered.”  
  
Draco grinned ruefully at that, but for once, he made no comment.  
  
“Let me have a look.”  
  
“You don't think I can handle it?” he sniped.  
  
“I think it never hurts to have a second set of eyes examine a problem. Besides,” she added softly, “it will be dark soon and it's a full moon tonight.”  
  
His eyes widened, then narrowed, confirming her suspicion. Once she was close enough to get a better look at the scars on his face, it wasn't difficult to discern how he'd earned them. Or why he now looked like one of those scruffy fellows hanging about The Hog's Head instead of the dapper Pureblood he used to be.  
  
“Greyback?”  
  
He jutted out his sharp chin. “He wasn't a werewolf at the time. I'm not one of them.”  
  
She nodded again. “You like your meat rare now though, right? And you probably experience instincts that wouldn't be yours normally.”  
  
“Did you read that in a book?”  
  
“No. He did the same thing to Bill Weasley.”  
  
“Oh...right.”  
  
He didn't apologize for setting the events in motion that led to that particular incident, but then, she hadn't expected him to. Knowing Malfoy, he probably thought he was serving his penance by owing Snape a life debt.  
  
In all honesty, she couldn't say she entirely disagreed with him. She didn't care whose side the man was really on; he was bitter and cantankerous, and would be an absolute horror to owe anything to, let alone something so substantial.  
  
Draco coughed into his fist. “I haven't been able to identify the next curse in the sequence. Don't know if you'll have any better luck since you're not exactly well-versed in the Dark Arts, but if you want to be the one whose skin melts off instead of me, then be my guest.”  
  
“You don't know me well enough to know what I'm well-versed in,” she replied, but her focus was already off of him and on the problem at hand.  
  
_Unfortunately, he was right – about the curses, that was._  
  
There were at least five remaining and they would need to be removed in a certain order or it would set them all off simultaneously.  
  
_Pity Tom Riddle was so evil, because he was absolutely brilliant.  
  
Or would have been if he hadn't included a bloody **failsafe**.  
  
Good gods._  
  
She wondered if he'd done that for all the Horcruxes he'd hidden away and Dumbledore just hadn't had the right Dark Arts knowledge to notice. If that was the case, then Voldemort was even smarter than she had originally given him credit for; it took a lot of cunning to be able to use someone's own arrogance against them.  
  
She gave her mind a quick mental shake and straightened, lifting and pulling back her wand to such an unnatural angle that reminded her way this specific curse and its counter-curse were so seldom seen.  
  
_Well, that and the fact that they weren't cast in Latin or any variation thereof._  
  
The magic he'd used was generally equated with the sidhe, wizardkind's intentionally forgotten ancestors, and could only be performed in the Old Language. And since he hardly seemed the type to bother to learn any other creature's language but his own – _save for snakes_ , of course – that did pose an interesting conundrum.  
  
_Perhaps he'd Imperio'd a house elf to do it for him after he'd laid all of the other curses down already.  
  
It certainly seemed plausible. But regardless of how he'd done it, it was time to destroy it.  
  
To destroy **him**._  
  
The words slipped off her tongue, sheer power in every syllable. Wizards might not like to admit they first came into being as the result of a botched breeding experiment, but the truth of it was there in every twist of her lips.  
  
A pale blue light encompassed the cupboard and then, just as quick, blinked out. The doors swung open of their own accord.  
  
Hufflepuff's cup sat inside; a gaudy bauble of pure gold that seemed just as unnecessarily extravagant as the woman who'd commissioned it had ever been.  
  
_Merlin. If her mother-in-law ever gave her something like that as a wedding present, she would chuck it in the rubbish bin or take it as a sign not to marry the man. Helga was certainly more forgiving than she could ever claim.  
  
Of course, look where the gift ended up. Only a couple millennium later and it served as home to a piece of an evil wizard's soul.  
  
If she ever had child of her own, she vowed to only pass on practical items that no one would think to steal for such nefarious means._  
  
“I'd asked where you learned Elvish, but I don't think I want to know.”  
  
_Oh, right. Draco. How was it possible she'd forgotten he was there?  
  
She really needed to start getting more sleep if her concentration was so inconsistent._  
  
“Anyway, hurry up. We – _you_ – need to get out of here.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because, as you so blatantly pointed out, the moon is going to rise soon.”  
  
“But you're not-”  
  
“I might as well be. Those instincts you were talking about have a tendency to take over this time of the month.”  
  
“What are you saying?” Hermione asked, shocked, though at the back of her mind she recognized that she shouldn't be. “That you're going to wrestle me to the floor and eat me?”  
  
It was supposed to be a joke to lighten his suddenly way too serious demeanor, but his intense stare and flared nostrils told her it hadn't succeeded.  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” he hissed out, as if in pain. “Just not in the way you're thinking.”  
  
_Uh..._  
  
Her eyes widened as realization set in. “You...”  
  
“Survival of the fittest,” he said shortly. “Wolves don't care about blood, they care about strength and power – qualities they can pass on to their offspring.”  
  
Her brow furrowed. _Strange that he should bring that up right after she was thinking of inheritances._  
  
“God damn it, Granger! Get rid of the bloody Horcrux and get... _Aaagh!_ ”  
  
She watched mesmerized as his blonde hair lengthened into a shaggier, wilder cut; as his gray eyes bled into liquid silver...as his long fingers curled into an approximation of paws and claws he would never really possess.  
  
_The full moon must have been closer when Greyback bit him than when he bit Bill._  
  
It was a stray thought, and the last one her wavering, sleep-deprived focus allowed her to have before a growl rose from deep in Draco's throat and he lunged at her, knocking her to the ground. True to his word, he didn't rip into her flesh with his teeth, but the way he sniffed around her neck and hair was almost as disconcerting.  
  
“I warned you,” he growled, or at least that's what it sounded like.  
  
He sniffed her again, licked her neck in a disturbingly arousing way, and then fumbled with the hem of her skirt until it no longer proved any sort of hindrance to him.  
  
“Malfoy...”  
  
She pushed at him, not hard, but obliged her, rising up just enough to unbutton his trousers. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably beneath him, but couldn't overpower him, and couldn't catch her wand if she Accio'd it because of the way he now held her wrists.  
  
Then he kissed her.  
  
Normally, the situation would find her biting her attacker's tongue or bringing her knee up sharply between his legs, but...she did neither.  
  
There was no reasonable explanation for it, not that she could think of anyway, but there was a niggling, nonsensical voice at the back of her head; one that was urging her forward, whispering that Malfoy had not only listened to her without her having to nag him, but had allowed her to show what she was capable of.  
  
_Had thought **logically** and tried to get her to leave so she wouldn't get hurt._  
  
She kissed him back.  
  
He grunted and nudged her legs apart to settle in between them. “I hate you.”  
  
_Of course, **that** rumble came across clearly._  
  
She scoffed. “Feeling's mutual. But I can't-” Her breath hitched as he pulled on the elastic of her knickers, ripping them straight through in the process. “I can't destroy the Horcruxes on my own. The very nature of it requires two or more soul signatures working in tandem, otherwise the captured piece of Voldemort's soul can feed off the person trying to destroy it. _Oh!_ ”  
  
His fingers suddenly on her clit were unexpected; particularly considering it was his inner beast who was supposed to be in control.  
  
“I want...I want...”  
  
She didn't respond. She didn't need to. He didn't wait for her to reach climax, not even a little one, but he apparently thought she was lubricated enough, because he positioned himself between her thighs and thrust forward.  
  
The subsequent pistoning was frantic, more like a canine's rutting than the limited experience she'd had with Viktor over a year ago, but oddly enjoyable just the same. He stilled and shuddered above her and then looked down at her with a horrified expression as the clouds shadowed the moonlight that had filtered in through the boarded up windows, and he transformed into the scarred, yet entirely human Malfoy he'd always been.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” he exhaled, but didn't scurry to get out or off of her like she would have thought. “I...you...we...”  
  
She rolled her eyes and pushed at him now that her wrists were free again. “We have a Horcrux to destroy. And we have to hurry,” she said, rising to her feet and straightening her skirt. “Because I don't know how long the cloud cover will last.”  
  
He just stared at her for a moment and then finally nodded. And, _thank God_ , apparently tucked himself back into his trousers when she wasn't looking. “Alright,” he agreed. “But this...?” He motioned between them with his hand.  
  
“We'll discuss it later. Now help me.”  
  
The spell to eliminate a Horcrux was actually fairly simple when a person knew it and knew to have more than one person casting it at the same time; facts that once again led her to the inescapable conclusion that Dumbledore was either too confident in his own abilities to do his research properly, or hadn't wanted to sully himself by dealing with a kind of magic that most people would classify as Dark.  
  
_He was a fool_ , she thought, and not for the first time. A manipulative old bastard who thought his way was the right way without exception and ruined lives left and right to ensure it.  
  
“So,” Draco started awkwardly, after the sickening screech had risen from the cup and then drowned in a thick black fluid that seeped from the inside of the cup as the spell came to its conclusion.  
  
“So,” Hermione echoed.  
  
“It's later.”  
  
“Right,” she said dully, and forced her gaze away from the cup.  
  
No one would want to drink tea from it now.  
  
She took it anyway. It was still incredibly valuable, after all.  
  
“Well. My house then?”  
  
He blinked at her. “What?”  
  
“I don't know where you've been staying, but it obviously isn't doing you any good. My parents won't care, so long as you don't call them names or try to kill them.”  
  
“Your parents won't mind if you bring home a guy they've never met to stay there,” he paraphrased with heavy skepticism.  
  
“They're actually on holiday, so they won't even know for the next couple of weeks,” she admitted. “But no. So long as you're not Ron, I doubt they'll mind.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow at that. “They don't care for your choice of friends?”  
  
“They don't care for Ron specifically,” she corrected, wondering why she was bothering to tell him... _anything_. She did refrain, however, from mentioning that _she_ didn't care much for Ron as of late.  
  
He'd probably figured that out from the fact that she had sex with him anyway.  
  
“Well, of course not. He's a quick-tempered idiot.”  
  
“Agreed.”  
  
He looked stunned by her statement. She supposed she couldn't blame him, but now was hardly the time to hash out her increasingly disgruntled feelings for _any_ of her friends.  
  
“Now are you coming or not?”  
  
He smirked then and moved to wrap his arms around her.  
  
_Joint Apparition. Right._  
  
“You know, you're different than I expected, Granger.”  
  
“Oh? How's that?”  
  
_Not that she really wanted to know. She could only imagine what he thought of her before, let alone what he thought of her now._  
  
“I thought you were like Potter and Weasley – like all the other Gryffindors, for that matter. Brash and impulsive, heart on your sleeve...but you're not.”  
  
She was sometimes, actually, but since it sounded like he was being complimentary, she didn't bother to correct him.  
  
“You're...pragmatic. Scheming. _Logical._ ” He paused and dipped his head so his lips touched her ear.  
  
He would be changing again soon, she could feel the tension bubbling up under his skin.  
  
“I like it.”  
  
It was her turn to let out a mirthless chuckle.  
  
_He liked it.  
  
Well_, she thought, _at least someone did._  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Granger's house wasn't exactly like he thought it would be.  
  
Granger wasn't exactly like he thought _she_ would be either.  
  
She wasn't friendly – he couldn't expect her to be after so many years spent immersed in mutual prejudice and hatred – but she was more congenial than he'd imagined she would be, certainly given the details of their re-acquaintance with one another.  
  
She had offered him a place to stay in exchange for helping her destroy Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes; something she had to know he was planning to do on his own anyway, so giving him shelter was probably done out of her inflated sense of pity toward her fellow man.  
  
Normally that would have made him angry, but a hot shower and clean clothes went a long way toward pacifying him.  
  
Draco ran a hand over his face after looking in the mirror. At least the Muggle ones didn't talk back. Even after he'd cleaned himself up, he could plainly see that he still looked like shite; he didn't need to hear it too.  
  
_He had sex with Granger._  
  
He intentionally flinched to try and push away the thought, even though he knew it wouldn't last. The words had been repeatedly been bouncing around in his head since it happened, often times accompanied with pictured snippets of the memory.  
  
He'd only ever had one full-on sexual experience before that night and his time with Pansy had been so vastly different that he found it difficult to even try and compare the two. Pansy had been a spiked drink he should have known better not to imbibe, too much perfume, and pink frilly sheets, while Granger had been grimy skin, a practically condemned Muggle hovel, and basal instincts he would have never dared act on before the lycanthropy virus infected his bloodstream.  
  
Pansy had been...awkward. Before, during, and after the act. The want was one-sided and even with whatever lust potion she'd slipped into his wine, he couldn't summon up the hormonal desire necessary for him to truly enjoy himself.  
  
Granger – _Hermione_ – had been... _amazing_.  
  
She wasn't interested in his social status or his family's money. She didn't love him; she didn't even _like_ him. But she knew what would happen if she stuck around, and she did so anyway. Her motives could hardly be called selfless, as she admitted to needing help, but they were the closest thing to it he'd witnessed in a long time.  
  
He flinched again, but this time it was for a different reason. Blood prejudice was all well and good when he was the one looking down on others, but having his family and former friends look at him that way had managed to knock some very hard truths upside his head.  
  
Magically speaking, he wasn't any different than he'd been before he was thrown to the wolves – _so to speak_ – but now he was...not a half-breed, not exactly, but he may as well have been for the way he was shunned.  
  
_Survival of the fittest. Wolves don't care about blood, they care about strength and power..._  
  
He'd told her that to get her to see common sense, to get her to run away and reaffirm the image he had in his mind's eye that he was now a monster, but that hadn't made it any less true. She had always been smarter and more magically adept than the majority of their classmates, and while he'd noticed it before – _indeed, it was difficult not to_ – he never would have considered acting on the attraction he wrote off as highly abnormal.  
  
_Did her blood status still matter to him? Did it make any difference at all, when he knew, **logically** , that her pedigree, or lack thereof, didn't mean **anything**?_  
  
He wanted the answer to be 'yes', because ingrained prejudices died hard no matter how much pressure was applied to break them, but an odd feeling in his stomach made him suspect otherwise.  
  
_...qualities they can pass on to their offspring.  
  
Fuck._  
  
They hadn't discussed that. He hoped she was on something; a potion or some Muggle means of contraception. Lord knew they bred like rabbits, but he'd heard rumors from trustworthy sources that suggested they weren't so uncivilized that they didn't know how to prevent unwanted pregnancies.  
  
_Of course, those measures were usually taken when one **knew** they were going to be intimate to begin with. Which she hadn't. **Obviously**.  
  
Fuck, fuck, **fuck**!_  
  
A knock on the door startled him enough to jerk him from his thoughts. The voice that followed brought him right back to them.  
  
“There's some food on the table downstairs when you're done.”  
  
He stole one last glance at the mirror and sighed. Transfigured Muggle pyjamas weren't appropriate attire for...well, _any_ situation really, but especially not for a late supper with someone he thought he truly hated up until a few hours ago. Granger was mending and laundering his one and only set of tattered robes for him, though, so the outfit would have to do.  
  
~*~  
  
“My Mum's a vegetarian,” she explained when he made a face. “She made a number of meals for me before they left and then froze them so I could reheat them when I was ready. I can pick up some meat at the store tomorrow.”  
  
He nodded to acknowledge he'd heard the statement and then shoveled some of the indistinguishable casserole onto his fork. _Maybe it wouldn't taste as bad as it looked..._  
  
It didn't.  
  
It was spicy, actually, _really_ spicy, and he reached for the glass of water Hermione had sitting next to his plate without thinking of any possible repercussions the action might have besides dousing the fire in his mouth.  
  
“You know, Malfoy, you're very lucky that I'm not as disreputable as _some_ of the people you hang out with.”  
  
He choked and coughed at the statement, and then threw a panicked look in her direction. She grinned wryly in return. He scowled.  
  
“That's not funny, Granger.”  
  
She shrugged. “It wasn't meant to be, necessarily; I was just making an observation.”  
  
“It would have sounded more like an observation and less like a smug little threat if I didn't know what you did to Umbridge during Fifth year.”  
  
Again with the grin; though he couldn't help noticing it looked more like a smirk this time. “Technically, _I_ didn't do anything.”  
  
He scoffed and took another bite of his food, slightly relieved when he saw that she did the same.  
  
“So where do we go next?”  
  
He froze, then looked up again with a frown. She was probably talking about the Horcruxes, but his brain was still ashamedly fixed on ' _I had sex with Granger. **Sex**. With **Granger**._' that, to him, there was the possibility she was talking about something else entirely. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Did Professor Snape tell you where any of the other Horcruxes are located, or are we just going to make educated guesses?”  
  
“I don't think you can accurately call him 'Professor' anymore,” he returned with a smirk of his own.  
  
“Habit.”  
  
“Mm. And yes, he did.”  
  
“ _And?_ ”  
  
“ _And_ I'd prefer to wait until the full moon's time is up, if you don't mind,” Draco replied testily. “I doubt this freak summer storm is going to hold over the next few days and...”  
  
He trailed off with a grimace and hoped she understood what he was trying to say. He wasn't a werewolf, but he still suffered from lethargy during the daytime when the full moon was up, and traipsing about at night with a witch he knew his inner beast was attracted to was a _very bad idea_.  
  
“Right.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Well, I suppose I understand that. Where is the next one, though, so I can plan ahead?”  
  
“So you can go off by yourself, you mean. I'm not one of your idiot friends, Granger; I'm not going to fall for that.”  
  
“I told you before: you need two people to perform the spell to destroy a Horcrux, otherwise...”  
  
“The person can get possessed. I know. I also know you were _alone_ when you showed up at the orphanage this evening, so don't try to feed me any tripe about just wanting to make _plans_.”  
  
She frowned at him and he grinned before taking a sip of what was left of his water. _Honestly. Who did she think she was dealing with here? All right, he could concede that she hadn't exactly been dealing with the best and brightest of the lot on a regular basis, so she was probably a little out of practice, but still; he'd **told** her he wasn't one of her idiot friends. What did she expect?_  
  
“I could always go and retrieve them and bring them back here to destroy,” she reasoned finally.  
  
“ _Or_ you could just wait _two bloody days_ until I'm not liable to throw you to the ground and ravage you every time the full moon peeks out.”  
  
“Well that's sort of what I was trying to prevent, Malfoy!” She huffed and met his eyes, and he couldn't help the jump his cock gave at the sight of the blush on her cheeks. “I mean, if I'm not here, then...I thought you would have agreed with me,” she said pointedly. “You know, seeing as how we hate each other and everything.”  
  
He opened his mouth and then closed it again.  
  
_He hadn't thought of that._ **Why** hadn't he thought of that?  
  
And more importantly, why did the idea of her leaving him and putting herself in unnecessary danger make him feel vaguely nauseous?


	3. Chapter 3

He was staring at her again. She could feel his eyes boring a hole in the back of her skull and it was more than a little discomfiting. If the sun had already gone down she might be able to understand, because his inner beast, or whatever he called it, was aggressively randy, but as it was just late afternoon, she was somewhat flummoxed.  
  
“I can do that, you know.”  
  
She blinked and turned her head just enough to throw him a questioning glance over her shoulder.  
  
“Contrary to what you apparently believe, I'm not incompetent. We had a house elf growing up, but that doesn't mean I don't know how to make a bloody sandwich.”  
  
Hermione grinned to herself. _Ah. So that was it. He was petulant because he thought she was treating him like a child...which_ , she supposed, _she was_.   
  
Thus far, she'd cooked for him, she reminded him to brush his teeth after meals with the new toothbrush she'd taken from her parents' plentiful stash, she gave him clean clothes and transfigured them to fit, and she scolded him for his perpetual use of foul language.  
  
 _Honestly! He was worse than Ron!  
  
Speaking of which..._  
  
“Language, Malfoy.”  
  
She could practically feel him narrow his eyes at her, but now that she knew the reason for his actions, she was less bothered by it.  
  
 _His growl, however, took her by surprise._  
  
“For gods' sakes! You're not my mother, Granger!”  
  
Hermione frowned. She only just realized that she'd been treating him like a toddler, but she hadn't really thought about what that meant. She had assumed a parental role in the relationship.  
  
 ** _Bugger._**  
  
The effort had been subconscious, obviously; she was disturbed by the unequal distribution of control between them and had adjusted to the situation by reaching for the only relational power she had left available to her.   
  
He knew where the Horcruxes were, she didn't. He turned into a hormonal half-wolf once the night swallowed the sky, and there was nothing she could do to prevent his advances. (Save for not being there, of course, but he'd made it very clear that wasn't an option.)  
  
Now that she gave the subject the consideration it deserved, it was little wonder that she'd slipped into a Molly Weasley-esque role, though that comparison made her cringe.  
  
She sighed. “You're right. I'm sorry.” She gave him a lopsided smirk as she turned around with the plates in her hands. “You can make dinner.”  
  
He rolled his eyes at her, but the tension he was carrying in his shoulders visibly eased to the point where she felt comfortable approaching the table to dine with him.   
  
_Well, as comfortable as she was going to get, at any rate._  
  
“The full moon only lasts one more night,” she said in what she hoped was a conversational manner as she set a plate in front of him.   
  
_One more night. He would still be staying with her since he had nowhere else to go, but they could start back on the Horcrux hunt and he would start avoiding her like the plague both day and night._   
  
_She thought she'd be thrilled, but she felt oddly confused about that._  
  
He raised an imperious eyebrow at her. “Mm. Are you planning to lock yourself in your room again tonight as well?”  
  
She blushed. _Bastard._ “Well, you won't tell me where the next Horcrux is, and I can't think of anything else that would keep me out of the house for an extended period of time unless I wanted to go out drinking or something and that's not really _me_ , you know, so I really think that's for the best. Don't you?”  
  
He mumbled something that sounded a lot like 'no' under his breath and then took a bite of his sandwich in what she suspected was a tactic to avoid repeating himself when she called him on it.  
  
 _Clearly he didn't know her very well. If he thought she was going to give up in the space of time it took to chew and swallow a bite of food, he was delusional._  
  
“I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you right. Did you just say no?”  
  
He glared at her again, but this time there was far more thought than she would have liked to have seen lurking behind his grey eyes. He nodded once, swallowed, and then took a sip of water to clear his throat. “Yeah. I did.”  
  
Whatever small amount of comfort she'd felt sitting at the same table with him disappeared.  
  
 _Still, it wouldn't do to show fear.  
  
Wolves could sense that sort of thing.  
  
So could snakes._  
  
“Why?” she asked, desperately hoping he didn't notice that her hands had started to tremble.  
  
He heaved out a breath and when he fixed his stare this time, it looked to be on the wall behind her instead of at her. “Because I've been thinking.”  
  
 _Oh, Merlin. **This** couldn't be good._  
  
“And...I owe you an apology,” he said. The words were gritted out, but they seemed to be sincere, which made her stomach flip-flop. “You...the fact that your parents are Muggles doesn't mean as much as I was led to believe.”  
  
She stared at him in shock, only having the presence of mind to keep her jaw from dropping open because there was food in her mouth.  
  
“Okay! Fine! It doesn't mean anything! Happy?”  
  
“I...”  
  
 _What was she supposed to say? Epiphanies were all well and good, but there was too much history between them for her to simply forgive and forget._  
  
He sighed. “Look, I know you probably think I'm just saying this to get on your good side or whatever, but...it's true, all right? I mean, I should know. My status has changed since I was bitten, but my magic hasn't.”  
  
She frowned. _He had a point..._  
  
“I just want to try and get along, okay? And I don't think that's going to happen unless we start spending a little bit of time around each other.”  
  
“We do,” Hermione protested.   
  
“Meals don't count.”  
  
Her frown deepened and she looked down at her sandwich. Even the thought of it was wholly unappealing now.  
  
He paused and though she didn't see it, he looked down as well. “When you first brought up wanting to know the other Horcrux locations, I wouldn't tell you because I didn't want to be left out.” He chanced at glance at her from under half-lowered eyelashes. “When you brought it up again, it was because...”  
  
“Because?”  
  
“Because I was worried about you,” he very nearly whispered. “I don't know why, so don't ask. I can't explain it, but there's a part of me that really doesn't want to see you get hurt.”  
  
She flinched.  
  
He saw it.  
  
And grimaced in response. His head sunk and his hands drove into his hair in mortification. “Fuck! I can't _believe_ I just _told_ you that. I swear, I don't know what's gotten into me lately. Ever since that bastard attacked me, I've been having the worst mood—”  
  
“Which part?”  
  
His face scrunched in confusion as he lifted it to look at her. “What?”  
  
“You said there was a part of you that didn't want to see me get hurt. Which part?”  
  
The confused look morphed into a more familiar expression. Incredulity. “Well how the bloody fuck should I know, Granger? It's not like something you can pinpoint.”   
  
She waited a second and then spoke again, her voice even softer this time than the last. “Is it...you don't think it's...you know, your... _wolf-en_ part, do you?”  
  
He opened and closed his mouth a couple times before clearing his throat. “I guess it _could_ be.”   
  
She could read the look on his face only too well. He'd had sex while 'transformed', and of course a young man's thoughts could run parallel to the possibility of protecting the possibility of having it again...  
  
“Why?”  
  
It was her turn to bury her hands in her hair.  
  
 _She didn't want to answer that question.  
  
She didn't want the only answer she had to be right._  
  



	4. Chapter 4

“Hermione Granger.”  
  
Draco sighed. He'd known Snape wasn't going to understand.   
  
_Hell, **he** barely understood._  
  
“We ran into each other at the old orphanage and figured out that we had a similar goal.”  
  
“And Potter?”  
  
He shrugged. “Haven't seen him.” _Thank God._ “She hasn't said so, but I get the impression they're on the outs.”  
  
His former professor's eyes narrowed. “I find that difficult to believe.”  
  
“I've been staying with her for almost two weeks now. He hasn't Owled or called on a Muggle telephone, and he hasn't just popped over for a visit either. She made a disparaging comment in passing about the Weasel, but other than that, I don't know what to tell you.”  
  
“Hmm.”  
  
Draco hesitated. It seemed like Snape had a right to know that Granger was significantly more than just the hand-waving know-it-all he obviously still thought her to be, but a part of him wanted to keep that knowledge to himself; to have a piece of her that was just for him.  
  
It was completely irrational, and more than slightly disturbing, but it put up a strong fight against the logical part of his brain nonetheless.  
  
 _Maybe if he didn't tell him **everything**..._  
  
He sighed. “She's not how you think, you know. I used to think she was like that too, but... She found a failsafe.”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“You Know Who put a series of nasty curses on his Horcruxes—”  
  
“I'm aware. I saved Dumbledore from the prolonged, agonizing death that one of them was causing him, if you'll recall.”  
  
He clenched and unclenched his jaw. “He was also arrogant enough to put in a _failsafe_ , so he wouldn't have to go through the trouble of removing each one in the right order if he needed quick access to them. Granger found it and knew how to use it.”  
  
Snape's lips were slightly parted, but he wasn't about to call him on it. Discovering someone he thought was the ultimate goody-goody was anything but entitled him to a bit of gaping incredulity.  
  
“That would require rather extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts, Draco.”  
  
He simply stared at him in return. Granger _had_ an extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts. She seemed to have an extensive knowledge of just about _everything_.  
  
 _Bloody irritating, that._  
  
“And the ability to speak Elvish,” he finally said, deadpan.  
  
Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose as if he felt a headache coming on.   
  
_He probably did._  
  
“You said you've been staying with her?”  
  
“She offered; said I looked horrible.”  
  
“You did.”  
  
Draco glared at him. “She also said she needed me around since the spell to destroy the Horcruxes needed two or more people to perform it.”  
  
“So she offered you, her _enemy_ , a place in her home to keep you close at hand? Why not just recruit Potter and Weasley as her seconds?”  
  
“Because they're idiots, obviously.”  
  
 _And because **they** didn't know where the Horcruxes were._  
  
Snape hummed again, though why he'd be skeptical of the fact that Potter and Weasley were incompetent was beyond him.  
  
“How many of the Horcruxes have the two of you destroyed?”  
  
“Two. We had to wait a bit with the full moon and all, but we're going to the cemetery tonight.”  
  
Snape nodded. “Good.”  
  
“After that...”  
  
“I shall take care of Nagini.”  
  
“Yeah... Look, Granger has this theory...”  
  
“The snake _is_ a Horcrux, Draco.”  
  
“I don't doubt it. I was just trying to tell you... She thinks it's possible that Potter's like a half-Horcrux or something – since his scar connects him to the Dark Lord's thoughts sometimes.”  
  
Snape pulled up straight, surprised. “I see.”  
  
 _No_ , Draco thought, _he really didn't._ But this wasn't the time to go into the theory or the plan Hermione had designed to accommodate it and still achieve victory, not when the madman who wanted to rule the world was expecting his servant to return within the hour.  
  
“You'll have to fill me in on this theory of hers next time we're able to meet.” Snape sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose again. “How are you getting on with her Muggle parents? You haven't done anything foolish, have you?”  
  
“They come back from holiday tomorrow.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“She doesn't think they'll have a problem with me staying there, though – as long as I remember my manners.” He grinned suddenly. “Did you know they don't like Weasley? _Really_ don't like him. They think he's a boorish imbecile.” His grin grew wider. “I think we'll probably get along well, don't you?”  
  
The dark-haired wizard's snort wasn't exactly encouraging. “So long as you don't let your prejudices get the better of you. Don't go treating them like lesser beings, hmm? You wouldn't want to lose Granger's sympathy at this juncture.”  
  
Draco's expression clouded. “I suppose I deserve that. But you'd do well to remember my precious Pureblood family considers _me_ one of those lesser beings now, and speaking as someone who's been on both sides, I _know_ I'm not.”  
  
Snape inclined his head in acceptance of the statement, and Draco could have sworn he saw something resembling pride flicker in his black eyes.  
  
He wasn't sure what the warmth that spread through his body at the recognition was, but he liked it.   
  
_He wondered if he could get Hermione to give him that look too._  
  
~*~*~  
  
 _Granger was entirely too smart for her own good.  
  
Too smart **and** too powerful.  
  
Was she **trying** to get the Dark Lord's attention?_  
  
If he were anything less than a Pureblood, _he_ would be lying low; pretending he didn't have the intelligence or magical aptitude that he knew he did, just so he wouldn't be hunted down and killed for making a mockery of the enemy's strong prejudice.  
  
 _But, of course, Granger wasn't like him.  
  
Survival wasn't foremost in her mind, **victory** was, and she would stop at nothing to attain it.  
  
Even if it meant trespassing on sacred land in the middle of a half-moon night with a part-werewolf.  
  
Okay, so the land had probably lost some of its sacredness since a piece of Voldemort's evil soul had been fouling its earth for a few decades. That wasn't the point. The **point** was that he could feel the cloud cover finally starting to lift, which normally might not have affected him this time of the month, but she was wearing a bloody **skirt** , and that changed everything._  
  
It didn't matter that the damn thing was relatively modest compared to some of the clothes he'd seen other girls walk around in; it was leather and skimming her curves in a positively sinful way, and that was enough to rile his temper.  
  
It also fell short enough to give him a tempting flash of leg, and his fingers itched to dig into that small but smooth expanse of flesh that the fabric revealed.  
  
“I can't believe he hid it in a cemetery. For crying out loud! There's a church right _there_.”  
  
Draco arched an eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt he cared.”  
  
Hermione ' _hmphed_ ' in agreement and then frowned. “Is it in one of the mausoleums or a normal grave?”  
  
“Normal. Good thing, too. Breaking into a crypt would be a lot more time consuming since he could place more complicated wards on a standing structure than he could a coffin.”  
  
“Mm. I don't suppose Professor Snape told you where the plot was?”  
  
“Please,” he said dryly. “We're lucky he even knew it was _this_ graveyard.”  
  
She sighed. “Fine. You take the half on that side, and I'll—”   
  
“We're not splitting up.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“We're. Not. Splitting. Up,” he gritted out though clenched teeth. “Riddle may not have been able to set up any fancy wards on the coffin itself, but that doesn't mean he didn't plant as many booby traps around here as he possibly could.”  
  
She stared at him. It wasn't a comforting look, and his assessment of it was only confirmed when she put her hands on her hips.   
  
“I fail to see how staying together will keep us from setting them off.”  
  
“It won't necessarily, but it will lessen the chances that we'll both be caught by one.”  
  
It would also lessen the chance that her scent would waft over to him on the wind and his inner beast would see her as something to hunt instead of something to mate with. Since it had been asserting itself more and more lately, even when the moon wasn't full, it was a distinct possibility.  
  
Every muscle in his body drew taut as his mind flipped back through his thoughts.  
  
 _ **Mate** with? Where the hell had **that** come from?   
  
'Shag' he could see, or even a less crude 'have sex with', but **mate** with?  
  
This couldn't be good.  
  
It just couldn't._


	5. Chapter 5

His stream of thought – _such as it was_ – was suddenly overrun in a rush of hormones and primal instinct as the grey clouds keeping his wolf in check slid away from the moon.  
  
_A **half** -moon.  
  
That shouldn't have affected him even if he was a true werewolf.  
  
Which he **wasn't**._  
  
That didn't seem to matter when he still underwent some kind of painful physical change under the full moon, though; when his conscious mind was forced to share its space with a personality he didn't want to lay claim to.  
  
His eyes flickered. He could still make out colors and shapes, but now they were just as distorted as they were at the time of the full moon; images meshed together with temperature-based auras. The breath he drew in made his nostrils flare. Her scent was intoxicating.  
  
_But it was too far away.  
  
**Far** too far away._  
  
He sniffed the air to see if he could catch her trail, but it was hardly necessary. Besides him, she was the only other living thing in the cemetery, and he could easily spot her just by looking. It seemed she'd ignored his _advice_ and had taken the opportunity to shuffle off to search for Voldemort's mother's grave by herself while he was distracted.  
  
His upper lip pulled away from his teeth and he started toward her. While the weakened strand of the virus he now carried in his blood did have some distinct disadvantages, it also provided him with more speed and agility than he'd ever possessed before – and that included being on the latest model of broom that was available.  
  
_Alright, perhaps he wasn't quite **that** fast on his own, but he was swift enough to take Hermione by surprise, and that was a difficult feat in and of itself._  
  
“Gah!”  
  
She placed a hand over her now rapidly beating heart. Then she slapped his arm. He surmised it was more of a reflex action than a sign of burgeoning acceptance of him and their working relationship, but that didn't stop the corner of his mouth from quirking upward just the same.  
  
“Don't do that! You nearly scared me half to d— _mmph_!”  
  
It wasn't that he was ignoring her rebuke, exactly; it just didn't seem important. _Kissing_ her, however, _did_.  
  
_It had to be the wolf-like part of him thinking that_ , he mused somewhere in the very back of his mind, _because **he** certainly never would.  
  
Well . . . maybe.  
  
It shut her up, anyway, and he couldn't deny that his tongue felt absolutely **brilliant** when it was sliding against hers. _  
  
He couldn't have predicted his wolf's actions next. The rough tug to bring her hips flush against his, possibly, were he thinking clearly, but not the inelegant tumble to the ground, or his desperate semi-removal of her clothing.  
  
_And **definitely** not the fact that she wasn't pushing him away.  
  
. . . Yet._  
  
His mouth found a nipple after tearing through her bra and it latched on with fervor, tongue lapping at non-existent milk and teeth nibbling just to hear the aroused gasp spill forth from her lips.  
  
“Draco . . . ”  
  
He moved to the other one, his long fingers taking the place of his tongue on the one he'd left behind. The scent of her arousal tickled his nose and he whinged deep in his throat, sounding more like the beast he insisted he wasn't than he thought he ever had before.  
  
“ _Draco._ ”  
  
“Half-moon . . . shouldn't be happening . . . I know,” he panted. “Can't help it.”  
  
She parted her lips to respond, but only a whimper of a breath came through because he chose that moment to grind his hips against hers.  
  
And then he nudged her.  
  
At first it wasn't a conscious action, but his inner wolf was insistent, and pushed harder when she didn't take the nonverbal cue.  
  
“Turn over.”  
  
Hermione simply blinked in response, causing him to dig his fingers into the flesh of her thigh from where his hand had slipped up under the skirt he had yet to remove.  
  
“Turn _over_.”  
  
_Hands and knees.  
  
He wanted her on her hands and knees with her arse in the air so he could bloody **mount** her.  
  
Fuck. _  
  
She didn’t protest or act confused by his request again – _which was puzzling yet wonderful at the same time_ – she only pushed against him as much as she was able from her position, a silent indication that he needed to give her space to twist and turn if he wanted her to obey his command.  
  
_Right._  
  
He lifted up to allow her room and she narrowed her eyes at him before rolling to her stomach and shakily raising herself up into the position he wanted.  
  
He imagined the shaky part came from her wariness over letting him have so much control of the situation, rather than because she was too flummoxed from their snog and subsequent foreplay to be fully composed, but he hastily pushed that nugget of reality to the back of his mind since there were far more important thoughts that deserved to be at the forefront.  
  
Thoughts like: _Thank God for skirts.  
  
Damn._  
  
He grabbed the material and pushed until it bunched up around her waist, and then . . .  
  
He'd meant to slide her knickers down her legs enough to finish their coupling, really he had, but the fabric was flimsy and tore under the strength of his impatient hands, leaving behind marks on her skin that he could only assume were red.  
  
_When this was over, she was going to kill him._  
  
The thought sent a shiver of apprehension through him, but it wasn't enough to deter the beast that dwelled within. He unfastened his trousers and then moved behind her, hands skimming delicately over the marks he'd accidentally left behind.  
  
He would have followed his palms with his tongue if he thought she'd allow it, but he rather thought he was pushing his luck as it was.  
  
He started to spread her cheeks apart and he saw her heat signature change. Given the areas it covered, he thought it looked like she was blushing.  
  
Draco grinned and then positioned himself so that the tip of his cock prodded against her wet entry. He closed his eyes. She felt . . . _perfect_.  
  
For once, it seemed that he and his wolf were in complete agreement.  
  
He placed his hands on her hips, leaned forward, and _pushed_. Although it would have been the considerate thing to do, he allowed her no time to adjust to him. He pulled back and drove forward again, thrusting in and out, the pace quick and hard as he drowned himself in the sensation of the way she clenched around him.  
  
_Faster . . . faster . . ._  
  
He gave into the command, but the urgent pummeling drew grunts and growls from his throat that reminded him of things he'd just as soon forget.  
  
_And they probably reminded Hermione of them as well._  
  
But then he noticed that she was pushing her hips back to meet his pistoning. And that changed everything.  
  
He leaned forward further, so that his chest was practically resting against her back, and touched his mouth to her neck. He was close and didn’t know how much longer he could hold out, and he was damned if he was going to make this time even less memorable for her than the first time she'd allowed him inside her.  
  
He reached under her belly and awkwardly touched around down where their bodies were connected. He pinched her clit a bit harder than he'd planned to, because multitasking while essentially in someone – some _thing_ – else's control was difficult, but by the way she shuddered when her climax overtook her, he didn't think she minded.  
  
He groaned as his release spurted from him and into her.  
  
It sounded remarkably like a howl.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

_She was going to hell._  
  
It didn't matter that she'd done her best to help win a war against a madman.  
  
Or that she had always worked her hardest for her marks in school.  
  
Or that she'd been a loyal friend, even when her friends were complete and total wankers.  
  
None of those things mattered.  
  
The only thing that was going to determine where she went after she died was that night, and the fact that she had had sex in a graveyard.  
  
_With Draco Malfoy._  
  
If nothing else convinced her that her suspicions were correct, Draco charging her, kissing her, knocking her to the ground, and then emotionally ( _and partially physically!_ ) manipulating her to be on her hands and knees while he rutted into her definitely had.  
  
_Bother._  
  
She'd known that some werewolves took after their animal counterparts, but denying that Draco was one of them had been easy. He wasn't even a real werewolf, after all. And out of the full werewolf population, only ten percent or so were afflicted with traits that were common to their relatives in the animal kingdom.  
  
_Why should **he** feel the need to claim a mate?  
  
And how on Earth had it wound up being **her**?_  
  
He hated her and always had. Why would his inner beast, or whatever he called it, thought it a good idea to override years of ingrained prejudice to push him to mate for life with a girl he despised?  
  
_It just didn't make any sense.  
  
Of course, **lots** of things didn't make sense lately._  
  
Like the fact that _he'd_ suggested that he tag along when she met her parents at the airport.  
  
Like the fact that she had not only invited him to her bed after they'd come home from their hunt, but she'd let him _stay_ there after they'd had sex again.  
  
Her nice, logical corner of the universe had inexplicably turned upside down, confusing her and making her fearfully anxious about what would happen next.  
  
_She used to have plans, she thought despairingly. Charts and graphs, and extensive lists citing the pros and cons of each impossible situation. She'd even created Arithmantic formulas for some of the information. But now . . .  
  
Now it wasn't like that. Now it was toss the dice, fly by the seat of her pants, and pray that everything would turn out alright enough to live another day.  
  
She liked the old way better._  
  
Draco rolled onto his side and flopped a sleepy, scar-addled arm over her as he did so. She heard him sniff her hair, and then he nuzzled his nose against her neck.  
  
_The moment had surpassed 'surreal' and now teetered on the edge of 'maybe she was just dreaming the whole thing'._  
  
His fingers curled around her breast and he let out a soft sigh of contentment.  
  
_No. Definitely not a dream.  
  
Damn it._  
  
Not that she wished it was, but dreams didn't _have_ to be orderly or logical like she preferred her waking life to be, and it certainly would have explained a lot. As it was, she had no explanation for her bizarre decisions beyond the fact that she was apparently his mate and that she didn't seem to have a say in the matter.  
  
_Perhaps there was some kind of metaphysical bond between them that was influencing **her** actions as well as his.  
  
Or maybe she was just lonely and sick of being totally unappreciated by people who were supposed to be her friends.  
  
Yes. That sounded a bit more reasonable._  
  
Tightly swaddled in her denial, Hermione finally closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep.  
  
She couldn't help thinking slumber would have come faster if his hand wasn't on her breast.  
  
~*~*~  
  
The room he woke up in wasn't the one he'd become moderately accustomed to. It took him a full three seconds to figure out why, at which point he was torn between either attempting to untangle himself from his current position or snuggle in closer to the witch he'd been raised to hate.  
  
He wasn't totally comfortable with the idea, but his body overruled his mind, and he opted for the latter.  
  
_Nimue, she smelled good.  
  
And she was soft.  
  
And warm.  
  
Well . . . except for her feet. Bloody hell.  
  
He was tempted to shake her awake just so she could get up and put some socks on or something._  
  
Of course, he _didn't_. The temporary sting of cold against his leg as her feet sought warmth under the covers was a marginal discomfort; nothing like dealing with her ire first thing in the morning would be.  
  
And her temper _would_ make an appearance. He was sure of it.  
  
He'd accosted her in a cemetery, after all; that wasn't the exactly the sort of thing most girls would be pleased about the next morning, let alone _this_ girl.  
  
She rolled over onto her back and he adjusted his position to give her space, startled when one of her eyes cracked open and lolled to the side to give him as much of a glare as she was able without turning her entire head in his direction.  
  
“You weren't watching me sleep, were you?”  
  
He couldn't help it; he grinned. “I just got up myself. I was . . . thinking.”  
  
She let out a delicate huff and then her eye closed again.  
  
He cleared his throat. “So.”  
  
She stretched out an arm to rest above her head on her pillow, but both of her eyes opened this time, so it didn't seem to him as though she was going to try and dodge the conversation by feigning a half-sleeping state.  
  
“So,” she replied.  
  
“I . . . uh . . .”  
  
She sighed. “I'm your mate . . . your _wolf's_ mate.”  
  
That was one of the nice things about being with someone as smart as she was, Draco supposed. Lots of wizards would have been intimidated that she was so clever, but he just thought it was brilliant that he didn't have to hem and haw his way through the only explanation he'd been able to come up with for his odd behavior.  
  
“Looks like it, yeah.”  
  
Hermione rolled over onto her side to face him. “I've suspected for a while.”  
  
_She had?_  
  
He narrowed his eyes. “How long a while?”  
  
“Since you first came to stay here. I wanted to go off on my own to gather the Horcruxes and you wouldn't let me. No offense, but keeping me out of danger seemed out of character for you.”  
  
“ . . . Oh.” He frowned. “Well, how did you know I didn't just want all the glory for myself?”  
  
She scoffed. “ _What_ glory? No one is ever going to know about what _we've_ done. Harry will strike the final killing blow and _he'll_ get all the credit for Voldemort's defeat, regardless of what anyone else had to do beforehand to make his feat possible.”  
  
He grumbled low in his throat. _She was right. Of **course** she was right._ His quest had been to repay Snape for the life debt he owed him and he shouldn't have even hoped that the wizarding world would acknowledge his part in winning the war when they had their golden boy to put up on a pedestal.  
  
Hermione's touch surprised him sufficiently enough to jerk him from his brooding. He wasn't sure what pattern she was tracing on his chest, and he wasn't sure he cared. It felt nice enough that he wasn't going to question it.  
  
“My parents are coming home today.”  
  
He blinked. _That was a rather abrupt change in topic._  
  
“I meant what I said before, you know. I don't think they'll mind you staying here as long as you're polite.”  
  
_. . . Oh._  
  
“But we're done. With the Horcruxes, I mean.”  
  
He frowned again. He saw what she was getting at. She had no reason to continue providing him with food and shelter now that they'd completed their task.  
  
That was the primary reason he'd waited to broach the whole 'mate' hypothesis with her, actually. He thought she might think he was trying to pull one over on her since he had nowhere else to go.  
  
His frown turned into a scowl. “I don't want your pity.”  
  
“Good, because you don't have it.”  
  
_What?_  
  
“I think whatever magic is telling you I'm your mate is having an effect on me as well. I won't say I like it or agree with it, especially since the truce we formed was implied to only last as long as it took us to get rid of the Horcruxes we had access to, but . . . I'm not sure there's a lot we can do about it, if anything.”  
  
“I've gotten that impression as well,” he said, a pensive look on his face. “Not about the binding magic affecting you, too, but that there isn't anything to be done about it.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“Right.” He winced. “So how much are you going to tell your parents?”  
  
“Most of it, I think. I'll gloss over some of the more intimate details, obviously, but they're already aware of the war and everything, so there's no point in telling pretty lies to get around the basics.”  
  
His eyebrows rose. “Let me get this straight. They know there's a war on, and they _still_ left you alone to fend for yourself?”  
  
_Some parents **they** were._  
  
Hermione grimaced and turned her eyes away, causing a similar expression to cross his face.  
  
_Clearly, his brain didn't operate at peak efficiency in the mornings._  
  
“Uh . . . hey, look. I didn't mean . . .”  
  
_Except he **had**._ It had always been hard for him to apologize _period_ , let alone when he wasn't really sorry about something.  
  
“I put a compunction charm on them,” she admitted quietly. _Guiltily._ “I wanted them to be safe, just in case I ran into any trouble while looking for the Horcruxes. I thought making them yearn for a long overdue vacation was the easiest way I could accomplish that.  
  
“The timing with us actually ridding the world of Voldemort's sundered pieces of soul was pure luck; I couldn't make them stay away too long, or their practice would have suffered. I thought for sure that I would still have at least two left by the time they came home, but well, they would be busy catching up on rescheduled appointments at work, wouldn't they? I thought I could do my hunting while they were out of the house during the day.”  
  
He would have loved to have smirked at that, and comment on how very Slytherin it was of her, but his mind was stuck on something slightly more important than teasing her.  
  
“You can perform compunction charms?”  
  
He didn't know why he was surprised. This _was_ the same witch who'd found a magical failsafe in Voldemort's layered curse system, after all. _And_ she knew Elvish. That she could successfully cast a compunction charm wasn't at all beyond her reach.  
  
The fact that most people couldn't wield that kind of magic without slipping into Unforgivable territory didn't seem to matter.  
  
_At least not to her._  
  
“ _Yes_ , I can perform a compunction charm!” she said indignantly.  
  
He smirked. Eyes wide and cheeks colored, he thought she was awfully cute when she got all riled up.  
  
_Good thing, too._  
  
If they were right about her being his mate, he imagined he was going to be seeing the expression she was wearing now a lot in the future.


	7. Chapter 7

_They liked him._  
  
It had been two hours since Hermione's parents came home and he still couldn't quite get over the fact that they _liked him_.  
  
Even after they recognized his name from their daughter's many letters home and knew how he'd mocked and taunted her.  
  
Even after they found out that his scars were from a werewolf instead of a car accident or some such thing like they'd originally believed to be the case.  
  
Even after they were told that although he wasn't a werewolf himself – not completely anyway – he _did_ undergo some changes around the full moon. He was reluctant to inform them that, while he was still human, he also had enough of the blood-altering lycanthropy virus floating around in his veins that he was prone to some of the same magical energies that affected werewolves, as well as their counterparts in nature.  
  
_So he didn't._  
  
Hermione did.  
  
_And they **still** liked him._  
  
Even after she'd explained that she was his _mate_.  
  
_No_ , she had answered, in reply to her father's question; _she didn't mean 'mate' in the slang sense. They weren't **friends**.  
  
Yes_, she responded to the wide-eyed look on her mother's face; _'mate', in this case, meant 'wife'. And wolves mated for life._  
  
All in all, he thought they accepted the news with a surprising amount of grace. Mr. Granger hadn't hollered obscenities and orders in protest, and Mrs. Granger, aside from the fleeting expression of shock that had passed over her face, was amazingly collected about the whole thing.  
  
It was almost as if they'd expected their only daughter – _their brilliant, powerful, pretty, career-bound daughter_ – to settle down early. He would have asked how they could have _ever_ gotten that particular idea in their heads, but he was fairly certain he already knew the answer, and he had no wish to discuss it.  
  
_Weasley._  
  
The Grangers had taken note of the Weasley family's decidedly lower class station, their propensity toward not using birth control, and the fat cow of a matriarch's decision to remain a house witch long after her youngest child had left the roost.  
  
They'd seen how Ronald Weasley looked at their daughter when he thought she wasn't looking, and how he had treated her so very poorly when she was.  
  
They thought Hermione might grow tired of waiting for her Prince Charming and settle for the village idiot out of loneliness instead.  
  
The thought made him positively ill. And, at the same time, oddly grateful for the fact that he'd been attacked by a werewolf so the beast inside him could claim her as a mate before she met that wretched fate.  
  
_Of course, it had sort of saved him as well, and **not** just because he would have had to witness Weasley's bumbling attempts at wooing a girl from the sidelines if it had come true._  
  
“I suppose there's always her inheritance from her Gran.”  
  
“I thought we were going to wait on that.”  
  
Draco blinked. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't been keeping an ear on the conversation, and now it seemed that was a critical error. He glanced at Hermione, whose brow was furrowed, and suddenly didn't feel quite so bad. She had – _undoubtedly_ – been paying attention the entire time, and was still having difficulty following her parents' secretively jumbled discussion.  
  
“We were, but . . .”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“I suppose we could _still_ wait. Technically, they won't be out of school for another year yet.” Mrs. Granger turned her eyes to her daughter. “I assume the both of you will still be staying in the dormitories?”  
  
The problem with possessing such fine porcelain-like skin was that it had a tendency to display even the smallest amounts of heat as quickly as possible. Thus, he was reasonably sure his cheeks had just turned the colour of ripe tomatoes in embarrassment.  
  
He and Hermione had told her parents a lot of what had happened, but neither of them had brought up the fact that the Dark Lord had given him orders to kill the Headmaster to prove his parents worthy of their continued existence. Finding a way for his Death Eaters to infiltrate the school had been the task he'd been given to prove his _own_ worth.  
  
They hadn't mentioned that although he'd failed his mission, it wasn't likely that he would be looked upon kindly if he tried to go back to Hogwarts.  
  
“Er . . .”  
  
_And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the official sign that everything had just gone to crap._  
  
Hermione Granger _didn't_ hem or haw if she could help it, and the fact that she'd started off her response with an ineloquent 'er' was about as devastating a sign as was possible.  
  
“Actually, we're not even sure if Hogwarts will reopen yet. The castle took quite a bit of structural damage in the fight – not to mention how high emotions must be running since Professor Dumbledore was killed and all.”  
  
_It was as good of an excuse as any_ , he thought. _And hell, some of it was probably even true._ Of course, if rumour was to be believed, the real reason it might not reopen on schedule had more to do with the Dark Lord sending his minions out to infiltrate the upper ranks of the Ministry through the Imperius curse, but telling the Grangers that probably wasn't the wisest idea. There was only so much bad news a person could take in one day, after all.  
  
“. . . _Oh!_ But . . . you haven't finished with your studies yet! I wish you'd told us this sooner. I dare say we should have been looking into admissions at other schools for you long before now.”  
  
“Hmm.”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
His gaze darted back and forth between Hermione's parents. He'd never seen a couple who interacted the way they did. It was wholly unfamiliar and slightly unnerving.  
  
“Well, that could work out, couldn't it?” Mr. Granger asked. “As I recall, one of the magical schools that sent Hermione a letter was around that area.”  
  
_**What** area? What were they **talking** about?_  
  
“Oh! That's right.” Mrs. Granger grinned at her daughter. “You received several letters from different magical schools after we found out you were a witch, but most of them weren't boarding schools, and we couldn't afford to relocate when our practice was finally booming.” She spared him an indulgent look, like she was about to explain something to him as if he were a child. “We're private practice dentists, you know, we're not contracted with the NHS. It takes time to build up a clientèle and . . . well; honestly, we weren't sure about the whole magic thing. We thought she'd get a better handle on controlling her . . . uh . . . outbursts, so to speak, if she were in a more consistent environment.”  
  
He'd understood the first and last parts of what she'd said, but the entire middle of her rambling explanation was completely lost on him. He decided to play it safe and just nod as if he knew what she'd said.  
  
“ _Anyway_ ,” Mr. Granger cut in pointedly.  
  
_Thank Merlin._ He may not have known them long, but it was long enough to know that Hermione's mother could prattle on _forever_ once she got started.  
  
“The point is that one of those schools was nearby the cottage my mother left for you in her will, poppet. And with your marks, I'm sure they'll snap you up in a heartbeat if you put in for a transfer.”  
  
Hermione's lips parted in surprise. “She left me a _cottage_? But I was only five when she passed on! She hardly even _knew_ me.”  
  
“You were her only grandchild, Hermione,” Mr. Granger said. “And don't get too excited, because it's in _Fritham_. Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely area, but . . . well; it's pretty secluded, isn't it? We wouldn't have had many patients at all in a place like that, and your mum and I would have likely gone mad if we'd been stuck in a place with so few people.”  
  
Draco didn't have the opportunity to guess at why Hermione's parents wouldn't have wanted to live in a village that wasn't as teeming with people as London was, because his brain was caught on a thought and repeating it over and over again.  
  
_Fritham . . . New Forest . . . Fritham . . . New Forest . . .  
  
**Forest.**_  
  
He might not totally change into a wolf each month, but the thought of having his very own place to run and be free when the full moon hovered large in the sky was practically intoxicating.  
  
“We were putting off telling you as a surprise for graduation, but under the circumstances . . .” Hermione's father shrugged. “What do you think?”  
  
He didn't know what Hermione thought, but _he_ thought it was absolutely _brilliant_. Hogwarts was by far the largest wizarding school in Britain, but he'd learned the hard way that being the biggest didn't necessarily mean being the best – regardless of what he'd been taught as a child.  
  
He was sure whatever little school was in or near Fritham would be perfectly good, and since it might very well be their one chance to take their NEWTs, he was all for taking the chance. When added to the bonus of a forest, _and_ a place to live that wasn't with her parents, _he_ thought the decision was pretty much a given.  
  
“I've never heard of a wizarding school near there. What's the name of it?”  
  
He could have tugged his hair out by the roots in frustration. _Why couldn't she just agree that it was a good idea and find out the name of the bloody school **later**?_  
  
The answer came to him just as quickly as the question had. _Because she wouldn't be Hermione if she did.  
  
Right._  
  
“Goodness! I don't remember,” Mrs. Granger exclaimed. “We kept all the letters for you, though. They're up in the attic. If _you_ want to go digging through the dust, you're more than welcome. Otherwise, you're just going to wait until tomorrow, after I've had a lie in to recover from the trip.”  
  
~*~*~  
  
“I thought you said you sent your parents on holiday?”  
  
“I did.”  
  
_Goddess. The attic really was as filthy as her mum had made it out to be._  
  
It was no one's fault – they didn't have a maid, her parents worked a lot, and _she_ wasn't even home most of the year. The rest of the house managed to stay tidy out of an effort of sheer stubborn will, but they only ever used the attic as a storage area, so finding time to clean it – as well as finding someone to volunteer for the job of doing so – rarely happened.  
  
Thankfully, she was now considered an adult in the wizarding world, so she could use her wand instead of the old worthless duster that sat in a cupboard downstairs, or the cleaning products whose scents made her nose itch.  
  
She covered her nose and mouth with her left hand to keep any dust particles from activating her allergies, and then she flicked her wrist _just so_. She repeated the action more often than she originally thought she would have to, and then finally stopped to survey her handiwork.  
  
“Then why would your mother need to recover from the trip?”  
  
She blinked in surprise, having completely forgotten what they were talking about in favour of concentrating on her magic, and then she turned to arch an eyebrow at him. “It was the first holiday they've taken without having to drag me along in years, Draco.”  
  
_Hint, hint._  
  
He stared at her blankly, waiting for further explanation, and she rolled her eyes. “And the compulsion charm I used on them was pretty strong. I imagine they took the whole 'eat, drink, and be merry' bit to an entirely new level.”  
  
“. . . Oh.”  
  
It was probably wrong of her to take pleasure in his obvious discomfort, but really, the prat deserved to be thrown a little off-guard.  
  
_Her parents liked him.  
  
After everything they'd told them, her mum and dad had just sat there calmly and **accepted** him._  
  
She wasn't angry about it, exactly – in fact, a large part of her was relieved – but there was a small, petty voice in the back of her head that chafed at the fact that Draco Malfoy, spoiled Pureblood, had gotten what he wanted without having to put any effort into it yet again.  
  
_Of course, he hadn't really gotten his way this last year, had he?_  
  
Threatened by Voldemort, attacked by a pedophile of a werewolf, and disowned from his wealthy family because they now thought him tainted. _No, he definitely hadn't gotten his way._  
  
She cleared her throat. “Mum said they'd be over here.”  
  
“. . . Right. Yeah.”  
  
He followed her over to a stack of filing boxes. Even if the attic was rarely given a thorough cleaning, her mother couldn't shake her organizational habits, and each of the boxes was clearly labeled, 'Hermione', followed by, on average, a two to three year period of time.  
  
She made Draco do the heavy lifting. She could have used her wand again, but why should she when he was too stunned at her talking about her parents the way she did for him to object to doing menial labour? It wasn't as if she was ever going to see him doing it _again_ , after all.  
  
_And he had a perfect arse that was just begging to put on display with him bending down and such._  
  
She grinned to herself and although she tried to hide it when he looked back over his shoulder at her, the spark that lit in his eyes told her that she'd been found out.  
  
_Damn. She was never going to live this down._


	8. Chapter 8

_Granger's parents hadn't been lying when they said the house was really just a cottage.  
  
One bedroom, one bathroom, and located right out in the middle of nowhere.  
  
It was perfect._  
  
The back of the property bordered the forest and there was a small rose garden out front that edged the stone pathway that led to the door. Everything was a bit overgrown on the outside, and _more_ than a bit dusty and dank-smelling on the inside – since the caretaker the Grangers had hired only stopped by every couple of months to trim things down and make sure no squatters had moved in – but there weren't any problems that couldn't be taken care of with enough magic, and the word 'perfect' kept reverberating through Draco's mind.  
  
_Perfect for **now** , that was._  
  
Kids were still a long, _long_ way off, but he supposed they would probably need something bigger if and when they decided to have any.  
  
“So, what do you think?”  
  
He glanced to where Hermione had just walked up beside him and then turned his gaze back to the cottage. “I like it.”  
  
“It's a little small,” she returned with a frown.  
  
“It's only the two of us, though. How much room do you think we'll need?”  
  
It struck him then that he wouldn't have been asking a question like that as little as a year ago. He'd been pampered and bigoted and . . . _well, he wouldn't have seen the house in front of him for the gift it really was, that was for sure._  
  
“More than this,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “As it is, my personal collection of books could easily take up most of the living room . . . and possibly spill over into the kitchen.”  
  
Draco snickered, but was quick to cover it when she turned her eyes away from the cottage to give him a warning look. “We can always add on a proper library,” he cajoled. But then he frowned. “I'd rather hire a wizarding contractor to do it, though. I've seen a few houses where untrained people try to do the spells and charms themselves and it never turns out well.”  
  
_Crabbe's house, for example. The entire west side of it swayed every time there was wind. It was frightening and nauseating at the same time._  
  
“The Weasleys' house is like that,” Hermione said softly. “I think the family members who performed the extensions were fairly skilled, because it's nowhere _near_ as bad as some of the 'don't do this or else' pictures I've seen in some books, but from the outside it doesn't look as stable as it really is.”  
  
He repressed a shudder. Barely.  
  
There was no way he would let _their_ house have anything in common with the Weasleys' _Burrow._  
  
They would definitely have to hire someone once they could afford it. Until then, Hermione could just shrink all her books and store them in that trunk in the living room after performing a bottomless charm on it. She wouldn't like treating her precious books like that, but she would do it. She was practical like that.  
  
He grinned at her once he saw that she'd turned her attention back to the house.  
  
_Perfect._  
  
~*~*~  
  
_Narcissa Malfoy was a fickle, thoroughly **frustrating** creature_, Snape thought with a scowl. First, she spurned her only son because of the punishment that the Dark Lord had meted out for his failure to complete the task he'd assigned him, and now, scarcely a month and a half later, she was weeping in his home, begging him to find out what became of her _precious baby boy_.  
  
Seeing as how she'd already obviously known that Draco wouldn't be able to kill Dumbledore – proven to him, at least, by the fact that she'd made him take a wizarding oath to complete the task for her son should he be unable to carry through with it – Snape thought her turning her nose up at the boy upon seeing him forcefully turned into something less than Pureblood in her eyes was more of a reflection on her faults and weaknesses as a mother than on Draco's as a son.  
  
He sighed, but resisted pinching the bridge of his nose as he was tempted to do. His opinion of the woman might have been different had she attempted a reconciliation before Potter had killed the Dark Lord, but she hadn't. Instead, she had bitten her tongue and cowered in the shadows of prejudice with her husband; saving herself by way of her silence.  
  
Until _now_ , that was.  
  
Only _now_ , now that the wizard her husband had sworn fealty to had fallen, did she think it safe for her to proclaim her undying, _unconditional_ love for her son, and her deep concern for his well-being. The fact that she had waited until the Dark Lord was dead seemed to indicate that her love and parental worry wasn't as without conditions as she would have had him believe, but he doubted that she had seen the inherent lie in her tale.  
  
_Still_ , he thought, and folded his arms across his chest. He wasn't so far removed from reality that he couldn't recognized the action for what it was – a psychologically defensive maneuver – but he sloughed off the analysis as swiftly as he was able.  
  
_He had every right to be uncomfortable with the situation and the conflicting emotions it produced, and if he wanted to cross his arms in reaction instead of shuffling awkwardly in place, then he bloody well **would**._  
  
_**Still**_ , he thought again, forcing his brain back onto the issue at hand. He may not care for Narcissa's self-serving tactics, but he suspected that Draco would at least want the mother who had doted on him in his youth to know that he was still alive.  
  
“You may cease your”— _theatrics_ —“weeping. Your son is well.”  
  
“He – he is?”  
  
_Oh, Salazar, save him from a blubbering woman!_  
  
_Some of her concern must have been genuine, though_ , he thought wryly, because he could think of no other reason that a witch with her demeanor would allow anyone but her husband to see the mess she became when hysterics got the better of her.  
  
_Puffy eyes, blotchy skin . . . He was half-tempted to fetch a mirror._  
  
“Yes,” he answered simply instead.  
  
“You're certain? You've . . . Have you heard from him? Do you know where he is?”  
  
“He is good about keeping up with correspondence. Regretfully, I do not know where he is at this very moment, though. As I understand it, he and his wife . . .”  
  
“ _Wife!_ ”  
  
“Mate, then,” he said, outwardly unperturbed by the interruption, but inwardly beginning to gloat with malicious, anticipatory glee.  
  
Narcissa Malfoy had put him in a difficult spot this last year, one that could have gone very badly indeed had Dumbledore not urged him to kill him ahead of time so that Draco wouldn't have to. That she had done so with no regard to him or his life and had offered no favor or deal in exchange did not make him particularly inclined to soften the blow of his information he had about Draco's life now.  
  
“Forgive me. I presumed that you wouldn't want a reminder of his . . . _condition_ , what with the way you and Lucius reacted to his punishment.”  
  
_By all but disowning him._  
  
“. . . _Mate?_ ” Narcissa asked faintly. “But he's not a . . .” To her credit, she stiffened her spine and pulled her shoulders back. “He's not a werewolf. You _assured_ me, after . . . after that monster attacked him . . . that he wasn't a werewolf. Or were you lying to spare me pain?”  
  
“He is not a werewolf, because Greyback was in his human form, such as it was, when he mauled him,” Snape said, his tone the one he used to use for the dunderheads he taught at Hogwarts. “But that does not mean he wasn't affected. He is, I would guess, as close to a werewolf as one can be without actually crossing the line. So much so, in fact, that when he came upon his mate, he had no choice but to claim her.”  
  
He paused and softened his voice, if only a little. “Do you have any idea how rare it is for a werewolf to mate, Narcissa? To breed, not rare at all, obviously. But to mate? To find that one person that the gods and their magic have set aside for them?” He sighed again, but this time it was a shallow exhale, not a deep one of exasperation. “Even straddling a curse, Draco is as he has always been: _exceptionally_ fortunate.”  
  
“But . . . but he's just a boy! He still has another year of schooling left before he graduates! He can't be . . . mated.”  
  
“He turned seventeen at the beginning of June, which makes him a legal adult – not the child you apparently still see him as. And if you had been courteous enough to let me finish my earlier sentiment”—He lifted an eyebrow at her when she glared at him for calling her on her lack of decorum—“then I could have told you that he and his wife will be finishing their educations at the Nimue Academy for the Magically Gifted come the beginning of term.”  
  
Narcissa blinked and then parted her lips to gape at him. “But . . . he wasn't invited. When he was a child, there were several schools that sent him letters, but we heard nothing from _Nimue_. I would remember!”  
  
_Because she would have insisted he be sent there_ , Snape thought. The school was much smaller than Hogwarts for a reason – they did not accept and invite just anyone to attend, only what they considered to be the 'cream of the crop', so to speak. Their guidelines for determining that were based on raw magical ability and, he'd heard through rumour, some not quite illegal charms that let the school know the capacity for intelligence out of the ones who were most powerful.  
  
They were also very careful not to let children from families they considered sullied, for whatever reason, into the school either. Since Draco had both power and intelligence, Snape suspected the reason he hadn't been extended an invitation was because his father had been a known Death Eater. The fact that Lucius had claimed bewitchment after the Dark Lord disappeared the first time was irrelevant.  
  
“Perhaps Draco wasn't originally accepted, but Hermione Granger _was_ , and given their mated status, the school was apparently willing to make an exception.”  
  
_Ha! Shocked her silent_ , Snape thought triumphantly. And indeed he had. Not only had Narcissa's endless babble of excuses come to a halt, but the few tears that had lingered from the initial weeping had stopped as well, dried out from how wide her eyes had gotten.  
  
“Hermione Granger?” she whispered, although she sounded surprised more than aghast like he was expecting.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And she agreed to . . . That is to say, I can see how Draco might be affected because of his new . . . nature, but surely one of Harry Potter's best friends wouldn't agree to be mated to . . .”  
  
“You are aware that the Dark Lord made seven Horcruxes that needed to be destroyed before he could be sent to a permanent grave, correct?”  
  
She nodded weakly. “Draco . . . he couldn't give us details, of course, for our own safety, but yes. I fail to see what the quest you decided to _share_ with him has to do with Miss Granger, though.”  
  
“Miss Granger's so-called _friends_ were too lax in their own efforts to find the Horcruxes, so she left them to hunt for the pieces of the Dark Lord's soul on her own. She and Draco stumbled across each other one night while on said hunt – perhaps inevitably, since they were both seeking the same thing – and . . . it was a night when the moon was full. She _agreed_ , as you put it, because she knew she had a better chance of completing her mission successfully if she and Draco joined forces. From what I've observed, the girl can be _disturbingly_ pragmatic.”  
  
_That was_ , he thought, _a tremendous understatement._ Hermione Granger lived by her own rules, and only obeyed others when they coincided with hers or with her goals; anything that _didn't_ was deftly ignored. Narcissa was unlikely to believe that of someone she still thought was Potter's loyal and _loving_ friend, though, so it hardly bore mentioning.  
  
“Neither of them realized that they had engaged in a bonding ceremony until later,” he finished and then hesitated. The blonde witch wasn't going to like what else he had to say, and though he didn't care much about her feelings, he had done his best to keep Draco safe since Greyback's attack, and he would hate to see the boy's mother derail his efforts by foolishly hunting Draco down in a fury. “I am aware that Miss Granger is not who you would have chosen for your son, but I hope you can take some measure of peace in hearing that he is happy with her – happier than I've seen him in a long time, to be honest.”  
  
_Happiness was more important than blood status.  
  
And if Narcissa didn't believe him, then she could go ask her estranged sister Andromeda._  
  
“. . . I see,” she said after a long moment of what he hoped was filled with genuine contemplation instead of just shock. “That's . . . good. Good,” she repeated, as if to convince herself. She shook her head. “It is. I have no idea how I'm supposed to explain it to Lucius, though.”


	9. Chapter 9

Once the euphoria of winning had worn off, a distinct feeling of unease and _guilt_ settled at the bottom of Harry's stomach. Hermione had Owled him a photograph of the Horcruxes that she had left him and Ron to go hunt on her own— _something that **still** stung his ego a little, even though her instincts had obviously been better than his since she'd **found** what she was looking for and he **hadn't**._  
  
She had included a brief letter telling him that all of the pieces of Voldemort's soul had been destroyed and that his confrontation with his nemesis— _her word, not his, and he was fairly sure she'd meant it snidely_ —could go ahead at any time, but sooner would be better for everyone.  
  
She hadn't mentioned _how_ she had found the Horcruxes, or _where_ , or even _how_ she had destroyed them; just that she had.  
  
Harry frowned. She hadn't said much else either; not even her usual greeting of hoping that the letter found him well.  
  
To his shame, he had simply accepted what she had done for him like it was his due as _The Boy Who Lived_ , and acted on her say-so without sending her so much as a 'thanks for the heads-up' letter in return.   
  
_**Merlin** , he was a git_, he thought glumly.  
  
“What's with the look?”  
  
He glanced up at Ron. His friend had stood by him, even when it became apparent that he wasn't as good at uncovering the secret places Voldemort had stashed pieces of his soul as he'd thought he would be. Before he defeated the monster that used to be Tom Riddle, he thought that was what a good friend did, but now...   
  
Harry sighed. “I was thinking about Hermione.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You thinking about Owling her or something? It's just that she's probably with her parents and they don't have a Floo connection, right? And... somehow I don't reckon she'd appreciate us just stopping by without telling her we were coming first. Her letter seemed kind of... Well, you know how she gets.”  
  
 _Yes. He did._   
  
Ron was right. It had been a while since he read Hermione's to-the-point letter, but he still remembered how brusque her wording was; he could practically feel her anger jumping off the parchment.   
  
Anger at _him_. For following his heart instead of his head.  
  
Harry sighed again. “Don't think we have much choice.”   
  
Ron had implied that he would be tagging along with his use of the word 'us', and he wasn't going to let him wiggle out of being backup, even if he'd only inadvertently offered.  
  
“If I send her a letter, she might just rip it up if she's still, you know, upset. I'd rather not take the risk of pissing her off before we show up. Whereas if we just Apparate, then we have the element of surprise—and since the war is over, there's a chance we might get lucky and she might not even have her wand on her.”  
  
An owl tapped at the kitchen window, drawing both his and Ron's attention away from speculating over horribly unlikely things, and he took the few steps necessary to retrieve the rolled parchment that the bird had tied to his leg.  
  
The tawny-coloured creature was not impressed with the piece of biscuit he received in gratitude for its services and as Harry rubbed the spot on his wrist where the owl had nipped him, he made a mental note to start keeping treats out that the predatory birds actually _liked_ to eat.  
  
“Well?” Ron asked.  
  
Harry unrolled the parchment, quickly scanned the words, and then decided to read the entire thing more carefully because he'd _obviously_ misunderstood what the letter said.  
  
 _That or Hermione had taken up pulling pranks like Fred and George—only if this was a joke, it wasn't very funny.  
  
Or funny at all, really._  
  
“Harry?”  
  
He blinked and then shook his head. “She's having us on,” he muttered, not knowing or caring whether Ron could understand what he was saying or not. “She has to be. Don't know why... Maybe to get back at us for all the Horcrux stuff? Don't see why she would do _this_ , though.”  
  
“Do what? What are you talking about?”  
  
Feeling confused and somewhat numb, Harry handed the letter to Ron.   
  
_Maybe he could make sense of it._  
  
~*~*~  
  
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”  
  
 _Because **he** sure as hell wasn't._   
  
With the exception of Snape and Hermione's parents, he didn't think there was anyone on the small guest list that didn't hate him.   
  
_Well, his parents, maybe_ , Draco supposed. But just because they didn't hate their only child— _if they even still considered him their child after effectively, if not legally, disowning him_ —didn't mean they'd be willing to put aside their prejudices for an afternoon to come to the housewarming party and pretend to be happy for him.  
  
When Hermione first explained the _obviously_ Muggle custom to him, he'd thought it sounded stupid.   
  
When she told him people would bring presents, he decided it wouldn't kill him to humour her by agreeing to have one.  
  
Now, however, he was seriously wondering if he hadn't been wrong on that count.  
  
 _He should have just stuck with his initial impression and found a way to talk her out of it_ , he thought. _Damn._  
  
“No,” Hermione said. “I'm pretty sure it isn't, actually. But I would like to see my friends again—even if it ends up being just one last time before we put the Fidelius Charm on the house. Mum suggested the party as a way to try to clear the air with them since I seem so bitter about everything that happened. And I agree with her. It needs to be done.”  
  
“You're not bitter,” Draco argued. “You're _justifiably_ resentful.” He grinned in what he hoped was a charming way so she wouldn't be tempted to hex him for teasing her. “There's a difference.”  
  
“Yes, well,” she said, her lips twitching as she tried not to smile, “either way. Best to get it over with now so Harry and Ron don't freak out if they see us together in Diagon Alley or somewhere else later.”  
  
He winced. She had an excellent point. Neither Potter nor Weasley was known for reacting well to surprises—particularly not surprises _they_ considered to be bad.  
  
 _Gods, they'd probably draw their wands and scream for the Aurors to come arrest him under suspicion of putting their **friend** under the Imperius curse._  
  
“Hmph,” he grunted in agreement. “So how do you think they'll take the news that we're mated? Should we put unbreakable charms on your grandmother's China?”  
  
Thank Merlin there wasn't much else in the house that the two gits could destroy. Hermione's grandmother had left the cottage furnished, but she hadn't been one for collecting bric-a-brac. Or even for displaying pictures.   
  
It made their new home seem a little bare, but he was sure that would change quickly. They already had a couple of photographs framed and hung on the wall—though they didn't move because they were taken with the Grangers' Muggle camera, and it made him frown every time he passed by them because of it.  
  
 _Still. Not having a lot around the house of breakable decorative items around the house was one advantage of not having as much money as he'd grown up with_ , he thought, trying to be optimistic about a situation that could only end up being a disaster.   
  
Optimism, however, had never been his strong suit— _and who could bloody blame him after the last year?_ —and his thoughts rapidly turned morose.  
  
 _Pity the unbreakable charms didn't work on people_ , he mused as he watched Hermione simply start applying the charms rather than answer him. _He had a feeling that's where they would really be needed._  
  
~*~*~  
  
 _She and Draco really needed to put the Fidelius Charm on their new home.  
  
Now.  
  
They could just kick everyone out and...   
  
No_, she thought, _that probably wouldn't work. Nice fantasy to have, though.  
  
And kinder than the alternative that she might be forced to resort to._  
  
Unfortunately, the only person both she and her mate could probably agree on to be the Secret Keeper was good friends with certain undesirable people, which made him somewhat untrustworthy.  
  
 _Somewhat_ , Hermione thought, because the undesirables she was referring to were Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and despite the fact that she was uncomfortable with them being in the same vicinity as her, she was pretty sure that Professor Snape only ever had Draco's best interests at heart—evidenced by the fact that he had accompanied the Malfoys as a chaperon to the housewarming party when she was quite sure he would rather be _anywhere_ else.  
  
 _That didn't mean she had to like Draco's parents being there, though; not when he had all but assured her that they wouldn't show.  
  
Not when they had actually shown up early and weren't under any sort of obligation of manners to behave themselves because nobody else was there to bear witness to their behavior except her, Draco, and Snape._  
  
“So,” Narcissa said with a skittish grin on her lips.   
  
It looked fake to Hermione, but she supposed it was _possible_ that it didn't reach the woman's eyes just because she was nervous rather than pretentious.  
  
Either way, she was thankful that the blonde witch was addressing Draco, and not _her_ , so she wouldn't have to try and feign a smile in return.  
  
“Severus said that you'll be attending Nimue this fall.”  
  
Hermione caught Lucius stiffen out of the corner of her eye, and given the fact that his mouth was slightly agape but no words were coming out, she thought it was safe to assume that his reaction was one of surprise.  
  
“Yes. Hermione received an invitation when she was eleven and since we didn't know what was happening at Hogwarts...” Draco shrugged. “They were more than happy to allow her to transfer when she approached them about it. And when she explained our situation—”  
  
She had to give him credit; he didn't so much as stutter when mentioning their relationship to his bigoted parents.   
  
“—They said they could bend the rules a bit to admit me, as well. Honestly, I think they would have done just about anything she asked if it meant keeping her for themselves and away from the zillion or so other schools that sent her invitations.” He grinned his teasing smirk at her, but something akin to pride shone in his eyes, so she didn't react the way she might have otherwise.   
  
Draco then turned his attention back to his mother. “How many schools was I invited to, do you remember? Hogwarts and Durmstrang I know, because those were the ones you and Father argued about, but I don't recall seeing many other owls...”  
  
“I'm... I'm not sure,” Narcissa answered, oddly flustered.   
  
Her reaction made Hermione suspect that Draco's mother did, in fact, remember, but for whatever reason, didn't want to say.   
  
“It was so long ago and it's not really the sort of thing you keep count of, you know.”  
  
Draco shrugged again. “It's not important. I was just curious.” He cleared his throat. “So... uh... I'm surprised that you came. Not that I'm not happy to see you, it's just... well, you made it pretty clear what you thought of me after... what happened.”  
  
Hermione frowned—not because of what Draco just said, as she'd already known that his parents had treated him like he had the plague when he was attacked, but because of the way he'd said it.  
  
Heartbroken and bitter, with a hint of hope that made her reach out to place her hand over his without even realizing she'd done so until after the fact. He glanced at her, startled, but relaxed and turned his hand over to hold hers.  
  
“We were obligated to play a certain role while the Dark Lord was still alive,” Lucius said chidingly. There was no apology in his tone for treating his only son the way he had, nor did there seem to be one in words coming at any point soon.  
  
 _Arse._  
  
“You know that,” he added.  
  
 _Gods above, she wanted to smack him._  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him and squeezed Draco's hand a little bit tighter. The action wasn't to comfort him this time, though; it was to keep her from drawing her wand or jumping up from her seat to pound her fist into the Malfoy patriarch's face.  
  
 _Repeatedly preferably._  
  
She had no doubt that her mate had truly changed some of the opinions he'd been raised to believe—not _all_ , though he was slowly getting there—but Lucius Malfoy was just as much of a prejudiced git as he'd ever been, and there was only so much of his acting ability she was willing to put up with.  
  
She could suffer through a little bit more for Draco's sake, but if Mr. Malfoy kept on like he was, she didn't know how long that 'little bit' would be. It was very possible that she would lose her tolerance for him before their other guests arrived— _which would probably be a good thing_ , she thought.   
  
Harry and Ron, if they bothered to come after reading the letter she sent, weren't likely to deal well with her relationship with Draco. They would come to her home filled with anger, confusion, and blame, and throwing Lucius into the mix was asking for trouble.  
  
“What I know is that you chose him over me,” Draco responded coolly, surprising both his parents and Snape with his sudden display of backbone.   
  
Hermione was surprised as well, but since pleasure and pride were also present and considerably more dominant than her shock, she decided to focus on those feelings instead.  
  
“ _Darling_ ,” Narcissa admonished.   
  
“He can dress it up however he likes, Mother. He can claim he was in fear for your lives or whatever, but regardless of his reasons, he _did_ choose to continue being the Dark Lord's slave instead of sticking up for his only child. You _both_ did. I can be polite and make small talk about unimportant things, but I won't lie and say that all is forgiven, because it _isn't_.”  
  
Draco's entire body was tense next to hers; ready to act should the need arise for him to back up his words with magic or physical force.   
  
There was no way she could think of to calm him down now.  
  
 _Well, perhaps if his parents weren't right there in front of them..._  
  
But they were, and since they made such a clear and easy target for all of the insecurity, resentment, and rage that he'd been carrying around with him, they were out of luck.  
  
“All my life you went on about blood purity and how important it is, and it was all _rubbish_! And you want to know how I know? When I was turned into one of those half-breed monsters you hate—or as good as, anyway—you turned your backs on me. You refused to even _look_ at me. But I _didn't change_! I still wield the same amount of magic I was able to before—hell, even _more_ since Hermione and I mated. And if that's not enough proof for you, then _look at her_.  
  
“Granger's _Muggle-born_ , but she was at the top of our class since day one. And _she_ was invited to Nimue. Only the best are accepted into that school. I don't know if I wasn't invited because of Father's affiliations or because I'm not as smart or as strong as her, but I'm kind of inclined to believe that the fact that my family's allegiances didn't do me any favours.”  
  
He sucked in a breath and though the tension pulling his muscles taut didn't ease, there appeared to be a resolve in him that wasn't there before.  
  
“Leave,” he growled. He was obviously putting some effort into keeping his temper—and his inner wolf—in check. “I can't be around you when I still blame you for everything that's happened. I would like to have you back in my life, Mother, but...” He trailed off and glared at his father, a silent yet blatant hint as to why he was unable to reconcile with them at this time.  
  
Lucius glared right back and had Narcissa not held his arm firmly in her grasp, Hermione thought he might have sprung from his seat to demand his son take back everything he'd just said.  
  
“Draco,” Snape warned, but not without sympathy.   
  
_He must have known he couldn't reason with **Lucius**._  
  
A knock came at the front door, jostling Hermione from watching the impending fight in front of her. She released Draco's hand and inclined her head in apology. She didn't even try for a smile; she knew she wouldn't be able to do it.  
  
“Pardon me. Some of our other guests must be early, too.”  
  
 _Or on time. Honestly, she had no idea how long they'd been sitting there, awkwardly making conversation until Draco finally lost it._  
  
She winced when she opened the door and saw Harry standing there with a scowl on his face.   
  
_Draco had been right. The housewarming party was a stupid idea._  
  



	10. Chapter 10

“I thought you said people would bring presents.”  
  
Hermione blinked and then turned around to face Draco. She hadn't been hiding in the kitchen— _though she was sure her mum would accuse her of doing precisely that_ —but she supposed she _had_ been dragging her feet in fetching additional refreshments for their guests.  
  
When she looked at it that way, it wasn't at all surprising that the blond wizard had sought her out.  
  
“Traditionally, they do,” she replied. “My parents brought a gift, and Ron's parents brought food, which I think probably counts.”  
  
“ _My_ parents didn't bring a gift. Neither did Snape.”  
  
She leaned back against the counter and cocked an eyebrow at him. “You're surprised?”  
  
“Well... no. Not really. Probably wouldn't be a good idea to accept anything from them, anyway—most likely, Father would put a couple of curses on whatever it was.”  
  
“I have a feeling Harry would do the same thing if he knew any.”  
  
 _Prat._  
  
She and Draco had done the bulk of the work that led to his defeat of Voldemort and he was still acting like she'd _personally_ wronged him by becoming Draco's mate. _Like either of them had a choice!_  
  
Draco snorted in amusement and then sidled up next to her at the counter.   
  
“So how's it going out there?” she asked, primarily to distract herself from the jump of hormones that happened whenever his body was right next to hers. “Any better?”  
  
“Is that your polite way of asking if the yelling stopped because they killed each other off?” he teased.  
  
“No. That's my polite way of asking if I need to cast some sleeping charms on the food to get them out of the house _before_ they kill each other off. Blood stains are hard to get out, you know—even _with_ magic.”  
  
He smiled at her. “Ah. No, probably not. Not unless you can make it person specific—and it might look a bit suspicious if only a few of the guests fell asleep.”  
  
“Your father?”  
  
“And Potter and Weasley. Everyone else seems to be getting along surprisingly well.” He paused and raised his eyebrows. “Our mothers in particular.”  
  
 _Hmm. Why did she not like the sound of that?_  
  
She was happy to hear that the blood shed was being kept to a minimum, of course, but both their mums were conniving and manipulative, and because of that, had a disturbing success rate in getting whatever it was that they wanted.  
  
If they were joining forces on some unknown issue, Hermione couldn't imagine it would bode well for her.  
  
“Lupin's been disturbingly chatty—some werewolf to _almost_ -werewolf bonding thing, I suspect, though thankfully, he's kept the conversation to questions about us attending Nimue this fall.”  
  
 _That wasn't surprising_ , she thought. _He **had** been a teacher, after all._  
  
Draco made a face. “And I think Pansy fancies one of the Weasel's twin brothers, because she's been batting her eyes and giggling like a lunatic every time he's on the same side of the room as her.”  
  
“Really?” she asked.   
  
_How bizarre. Not that the twins weren't worthy of being fancied, but... Well. **She** never would have looked at either of them like that. But perhaps that was because she **knew** them. _  
  
“Does she like Fred or George?”  
  
“Hell if I know! _I_ can't tell them apart.”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes at his theatrics, but then she frowned. “Does that bother you?”  
  
“That I can't tell them apart? Not really. I mean, it's not as if we're going to be spending a lot of time with them...” He paused and his grey eyes widened in panic. “We're _not_ , right?”  
  
“I hadn't planned to.”  
  
“Thank God.”  
  
“But that's not what I was talking about,” she said softly.   
  
He glanced at her and waited for her to elaborate; it was a nice change from the inane 'What do you mean?' type of questions she normally received—not just from him, but from everyone. She would have to tell him that she appreciated it when it was a more appropriate time to do so. Right now, though, she needed to stick to the point or he was likely to lose interest in what she was talking about.  
  
“I meant... Are you upset that Pansy fancies one of them? I know you two used to be involved... and it's not like either of us chose for this—” She gestured helplessly “—to happen.”  
  
Draco stared at her for a long moment and then his lips curled and a delighted twinkle lit in his eyes. “Granger! Are you... _jealous_? Of _Pansy_?”  
  
Her nose wrinkled. “I'm not sure _jealous_ is the right word...”  
  
 _It was certainly too close for comfort, though._   
  
He smiled wider and took a step so that he was in front of her and then leaned forward, trapping her against the counter—instead of beside her in a far less threatening way as he had been.   
  
_Threatening in that his proximity now was making her previous hormone jump seem like nothing._  
  
He must have known it, too, because directly after she'd just vaguely had the thought, he dipped his head down, nuzzled his nose against the crook of her neck, and _sniffed_.   
  
It was a decidedly wolf-like behavior, and Hermione mused, not for the first time, about how differently Fenrir Greyback's bite had affected him than it had Bill.   
  
_Or even Remus, for that matter._  
  
Remus was a _full_ werewolf and she never caught _his_ eyes flashing amber when it wasn't the full moon. Or him having to try and contain his beast when his temper came out.   
  
_Or **sniffing** her.  
  
She couldn't say she didn't like it, though_, she thought with some embarrassment. _Not that she could help it. It was all very alpha-male behavior, and putting her feminist views aside, she could acknowledge that her body was genetically programmed to respond favourably to it._  
  
“This is a different side of you,” he said. “I think I like it.”  
  
“Well, I don't. It's completely illogical—especially with the circumstances being what they are.”  
  
 _In that they were mated for life and all._   
  
He chuckled and sniffed her again. “Would you like me to _assure_ you that your jealousy is unwarranted?”  
  
Her cheeks burned. She knew _exactly_ how he was thinking of _assuring_ her.  
  
“Draco.” Her hands went to his chest, but she couldn't bring herself to push him away as she'd intended.  
  
He must have taken the fact that she didn't as encouragement, because she felt him smirk against her neck before he kissed it.  
  
“We shouldn't,” she said quietly. But there was no force behind her words, and she suspected he knew it.  
  
“Mm.”  
  
“Anyone could walk in on us.”  
  
“They could,” he agreed, his voice a seductive rumble that made her eyes fall shut. He then nipped the shell of her ear to punctuate his statement.  
  
 _Oh. Goddess.  
  
That was... **ohh**._  
  
She opened her eyes when she felt his warm breath on her face and saw the smirk she'd only felt before.   
  
“Guess we'd better make it good, then—just in case.”  
  
 _Not **quick**_ , she noted, _but **good**. Like if someone did walk in, he didn't want to disappoint them by giving them a poor performance. _  
  
She wasn't an exhibitionist— _or at least she'd never been one before_ —so that shouldn't have excited her _nearly_ as much as it did.  
  
“Turn around.”  
  
It wasn't a request, and the hand he'd placed on her hip tugged and twisted to physically urge her to follow the command. She half-heartedly fought him, turning where she stood so she could face the counter, but looking over her shoulder at him, heart aflutter more with anxiety now than anticipation.  
  
“You can't _seriously_ mean to—”  
  
“It's standing or the table, and quite frankly, I don't think it's that sturdy,” he said matter-of-factly. “Scoot back and... yeah,” he added, his voice husky once again when she leaned down, which effectively put her arse on display.   
  
Hermione bit her lip as he pushed her skirt up in back and then began to drag her knickers down her legs.   
  
_She couldn't **believe** she was going along with this.  
  
But if she didn't, then he was likely to be irritable for the rest of the party—and with his father, Harry, and Ron already on edge, that could quickly lead to disaster._  
  
“Silencing charm?” she suggested.  
  
Draco grumbled something under his breath, but he took a step back, retrieved his wand from its holster, and flicked it a few times to set the charm just the same. He was fast to return to his previous position, though—curved over her spine and unfastening his trousers.  
  
“You smell...”   
  
He sniffed her _again_.   
  
_Gods! What was **wrong** with him?_  
  
“ _Unh_. You smell _so_ good. So _ready_.”  
  
Her heartbeat picked up. She _felt_ ready, too. There hadn't even been any foreplay, and yet she felt like she would probably start _dripping_ , she was so wet.  
  
 _She was like a bitch in heat! Like... Uh-oh._  
  
She wasn't a werewolf, or even an _almost_ -werewolf like Draco called himself, but she _was_ mated to him, and that _might_ cause some... side-effects. There weren't too many cases of werewolves finding their true mates, and the information contained in the books she'd read had been severely limited, so she had to admit that it might be possible.  
  
 _Bother.  
  
She would have to take an extra dose of contraceptive potion afterward just to be safe._  
  
Draco's free hand—the one that _wasn't_ braced on the counter—slid around her waist to pull her impossibly closer to him; up and... _oh_. He pushed deep inside her with a growl and her inner walls clenched around him in response.  
  
 _Fuck... fuck... **fuck**..._  
  
His tempo was more frantic than it usually was at the beginning; harder, too, like it wasn't just about a desperate want to shag her, but about the need to prove... _something_ —something _beyond_ the fact that he desired _her_ and _not_ Pansy.  
  
 _Of course, he'd been holding in all that building testosterone instead of going for certain party guests' throats_ , she thought, _so that might have something to do with it._  
  
Her train of thought came to an abrupt stop when the thrumming in her veins finally reached that one... perfect... pitch...  
  
“Oh! Oh, _gods_. _Draco_!”  
  
Her thighs trembled so hard she thought she might fall, but the arm he had wrapped around her kept her upright—even through his continued thrusting.   
  
He grunted her name through a series of syllabic grunts, unable to utter them in a steady stream when all of his concentration was elsewhere. But a few more thrusts in and out of her slick folds brought him to climax, and Hermione thought she was rather lucky that he'd been able to say anything other than expletives at all.  
  
He let go of her stomach to brace both hands on the counter instead of just the one, but he made no move to remove himself from his plastered position against her, and his panting was hard enough to ruffle her hair.   
  
“Changed my mind,” he said after a long moment, his now _hot_ breath still winded.  
  
“About?” she asked, pleased that she was able to speak instead of just uttering a questioning noise.   
  
“The housewarming party,” he said and licked the spot just under her ear that made her insides quiver. “It was a _brilliant_ idea.”  
  



	11. Epilogue

Narcissa Malfoy was an infinitely more agreeable person than her husband was. She was capable of conducting a civil conversation with others, at any rate, which was more than Hermione could say for Lucius.  
  
Far more, since all Lucius did at these sorts of gatherings was scowl and purse his lips like he'd just tasted something sour. The expression only worsened when he noticed that she was in the same room with him.  
  
Hermione would have thought that after an entire year of her being mated to his son that he would have at least learned to _act_ as if her blood status didn't bother him, but apparently that wasn't the case.  
  
_Well_ , she thought and her eyes narrowed dangerously. _She'd had enough of it. This was her and Draco's graduation party and she would be damned if she let **anyone** ruin it for him._  
  
Fate was on her side, because the timing, for once, was perfect. Narcissa was chatting with her mum and Molly near the far wall; her dad was engaged in a lively discussion with Arthur, and Draco was catching up with his Aunt Andromeda. No one was near enough to hear her chide Lucius for his attitude.  
  
_Unless, of course, the underhanded rant she had planned turned into a duel._  
  
With all of the pent up anger and resentment she harboured for the man, Hermione couldn't guarantee that it wouldn't.  
  
She could, however, _almost_ guarantee that she would _win_ said duel.  
  
Lucius was a vicious bastard, but he was no match for her. Not any more. Nimue's curriculum was quite different than Hogwarts and she had graduated at the top of her class. He would never see her spells coming.  
  
_Hell, he hadn't even heard of half of the ones she had in mind._  
  
In retrospect, it was probably a good thing that Hogwarts didn't offer a class on spell creation for advanced students. Some of the most talented wizards to pass through Hogwarts had also been some of the most evil. It was better for everyone if their proclivities weren't encouraged.  
  
“I've been meaning to thank you,” she said, keeping her voice low and her eyes on the cup she was refilling with punch. Fred and George had undoubtedly spiked it by now, but she didn't think a little alcohol would matter much at this point.  
  
She caught Lucius lift an eyebrow at her out of her peripheral vision and she turned to grin at him. “None of this would have happened if it weren't for you, after all,” she explained. “Draco would have never been pressured to serve Voldemort—”  
  
He flinched. She had a feeling it was because she'd said his dead master's name, though, and _not_ because he felt any remorse for forcing his son into the servitude of a _maniac_ , so she continued.  
  
“—if not for you. That means he never would have been ordered to kill Dumbledore or been handed over to Greyback as a chew-toy when he failed. And then he never would have searched for Voldemort's Horcruxes to get even. If not for that, then we probably never would have even met again, let alone discovered we were life-mates! Can you _imagine_?”  
  
She smiled at him, a cruel baring of teeth that made a mockery of everything a smile was supposed to stand for. “So, thank you.”  
  
_For being a prejudiced git. Look at what it got you, you miserable sod._  
  
Draco came up beside her and placed a hand on the small of her back. She could practically feel the tension radiating off him, which meant that she hadn't been as circumspect in her endeavour of verbally dressing down his dad as she'd thought.  
  
_Or he had just caught a glimpse of his father's expression_ , she mused, and the corners of her mouth tipped upward in genuine amusement. _Lucius looked ready to palm his wand and start spitting curses at any second!_  
  
“Problem?” Draco asked. He addressed his father and his voice had a steely quality to it; a clear warning to anyone smart enough to listen that he wouldn't tolerate any mistreatment of his mate.  
  
“Not at all,” Hermione answered in an overly chipper tone and then wrapped an arm around his waist. “I was just thanking your father for everything he's done.”  
  
Draco was the one to raise an eyebrow this time.  
  
She shrugged. “Think about it. If not for his antiquated views, we could have lived very different lives this last year. Never destroyed Voldemort's Horcruxes together, never mated, never attended Nimue...”  
  
Her mate's lips twitched and it looked like he was trying to restrain himself from outright laughing at her antics. “That's...” He cleared his throat. “I never thought about it that way before, but I guess that's true.” He smirked at Lucius, whose naturally pale colouring wasn't done any favours by the amount of blood rushing to his face. “Thank you, Father. It's heartening to realise you only ever had my best interests at heart.”  
  
The sarcasm was a _bit_ too thick, but that he was able to get the words out at all—and with a smile at that—was incredible. His father had bullied him, both mentally and emotionally, for so long... It made her _very_ proud to see him stand up to him.  
  
_And kind of randy, actually._  
  
Since Draco was sure to smell her arousal and quickly determine the cause of it, she wondered if that might spur on more of these sorts of confrontations with the pompous prat who'd spawned him.  
  
Given his sex drive, it seemed like a logical conclusion.  
  
She saw his nostril's flare—just a little—and his pupils dilate.  
  
_A lot._  
  
His hand moved from its position on her back to her waist, where his fingers promptly dug in. He bid a quick goodbye to his father and then guided her away from the man—and everyone else—as swiftly as possible.  
  
Hermione grinned to herself. It was petty, she knew, but she really enjoyed it when she was right.  
  
_And this time, she was pretty sure Draco would enjoy it, too._


End file.
